


Peter vs the World ( well the Undead parts of it ). And maybe kind of falls in love in the process

by MrsRidcully



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Evil Gerard Argent, Good Alpha Peter Hale, M/M, Sassy Peter Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, The Necronomicon, a hint of Dargent, evil dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRidcully/pseuds/MrsRidcully
Summary: Peter left Beacon hills nine years ago, after the incident in the preserve. (It was the Deadites that killed the Hales, and the fire had been set by Peter to destroy what was left of the undead. Gerard and a certain book were behind it, and fixed evidence to level the blame at Peter.Chris -- the only Argent worth redemption -- had fought alongside Peter and tried to save the Hales, with the help of John Stilinski.Nine years have passed, and Gerard has used Necronomicon again and may have brought about the end times. So Peter arrives in Beacon Hills to find the town under siege, and the survivors all holed up at the old Hale House.  He arrives to find a young, tattooed magic-user fighting off Deadites with a rowan-wood baseball bat and a sharp tongue.





	Peter vs the World ( well the Undead parts of it ). And maybe kind of falls in love in the process

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightchicky!](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=twilightchicky%21).



> This is my first Steter fic ever and done for the Steter Secret Santa I hope you enjoy it twilightchicky!
> 
> I think it needs a part two so I shall see where the muse takes me and I have to thank Ally_TGWK so much for the Editing and patience with me huge hugs.

Beacon Hills was much like when he left it. OK, it had not been blanketed in a noxious fog, and the streets were not filled with headless Deadite bodies, but, you know, things happen. He pulled the Camaro into the deserted parking lot of the BHPD and noticed that it was ominously empty. Chris’s  message had said he would meet him here. It had been years since he had seen anyone from Beacon Hills; leaving in the dead of night, hounded by hunters and police, didn’t leave you time to give people a forwarding address for you. 

 

Pushing open the doors into the foyer, Peter could not smell anything other than dust. The scent of other people was faint: weeks, maybe months old. He pushed through the doors and walked through to where the sheriff's office had once been. John had still been a deputy when the fire had happened, bucking for promotion, and Peter’s  family had thrown their support behind him. The Argent clan had other ideas. They did not want a sheriff who was backed by the Were family, and did everything in their power to discredit them. It didn't work -- the town knew who the real monsters were, and it wasn't the Hales. 

 

Sighing, Peter ran his fingers across the dusty duty desk. Nine  years had passed since he had last been in this building. The memories came unbidden: soot-stained and tearful, he had been holding Derek and Laura close while John had gotten them into the station, away from prying eyes. Chris had stood guard out the front, his glare and posture willing any of his disowned family to come close and give him a reason to shoot. 

 

The accusations had already started.The  Argents used their few well-placed allies to start a campaign of lies, laying the blame for the deaths and fire squarely on Peters feet. The fact that Gerard had used the power from the Necronomicon to destroy Peter’s family would not be believed by any. It had taken the world too long to accept that Werewolves were real and not the bloodthirsty monsters of legend (okay, some were, but most, like the Hales, were respected and well-loved families).

 

In the end Peter had been forced to leave, with the false accusations hanging over his head. John and Chris had sworn they would prove Peter’s innocence and protect Derek and Laura.  

  
  


And now he was back. The world had gone to hell; the Argents had finally gone too far, and it was up to Peter to try and set things right. Well, he hoped. First he had to find Chris. 

 

He moved about the deserted sheriff's station, finding no sign of Argent or any living person. He knew that most who had  survived would be holed up behind sturdy walls. As he made his way to the front of the building, a foul smell assaulted his senses. It smelled like rotting meat and grave dirt, and the air suddenly felt oppressive and heavy. Peter walked towards the double doors of the building. Peering out into the parking lot, he could see figures lurching and skulking about. Those were Deadites -- the reanimated corpses that were summoned by the  Necronomicon. There had to be at least five of them waiting out there for him, and they were here for him, he was certain of it. Gerard’s spies would have noticed his arrival and reported back. 

 

There was no point trying to slip out the back. He was sure he would find more out there waiting for him. He could take on those out the front without too much of an issue. His eyes flashed red in anticipation of the fight ahead.

 

Pushing open the doors, he swaggered out, whistling to catch the undead minions’ attention. Hip cocked and eyes flashing, Peter smirked.

 

“Are you looking for me?” He stepped out into the carpark, waiting for the first Deadite to attack. As the first charged at him, Peter saw more come around the building.  _ Oh, this is going to be fun. _ Letting out a loud roar, he slashed at the first Deadite, ripping its throat clean out and severing head from neck. Black blood sprayed in almost comic amounts from the stump. The next Deadite lunged, swinging a tire iron at Peter’s head. Before Peter could react, a bolt of electricity hit the Deadite square in the chest, sending it flying. 

 

“Aim for the heads; only way to kill these fuckers.” The young man was flinging lighting with practised ease. Peter was reasonably impressed by this display, and further impressed when the young man brought out his baseball bat to play.

  
  


The fight was bloody and brutal. The air stank of black blood and ozone; both men were  heaving gulps of air as they dispatched the last of the Deadites. 

 

The Spark -- and Peter had no doubt that was what he was  -- flicked his bat, sending droplets of blood onto the ground.He turned to look at Peter, honey-coloured eyes assessing him. Peter found his eyes drawn to the the young man's slightly open mouth, lips parted as he breathed deeply. They were sinful-looking lips, he must say.  

 

He realised that he was being appraised just as blatantly by the Spark; he stood a little taller, soaking in the man's apparent approval. 

  
  
  
  
  


Peter stared  back at him, glancing at his tattoos, which  glowed softly in the twilight. The violet light coming off them matched the light in the young man's eyes. This had to be Stiles, John and Claudia's young son; the one who had shown so much potential as a Spark. 

 

“You’re Stiles, right? John’s son, used to be attached at the hip with my nephew?” Peter asked as he flicked the black blood off his claws, grimacing at the smell. 

 

“Yeah Der is still my best friend, though I lost his heart to a grey fox. You’re Peter? Chris said you would be here.” Stiles lowered his bat and extended a hand. Peter could make out the runes tattooed along the young man's arms now, and feel the magic emanating from him.

 

“Your Deaton’s apprentice ?” Peter asked as he shook Stiles’ hand, trying not to notice the warmth and scent that came of the boy in waves. Peter’s wolf grumbled unhappily, wanting to get more of the intoxicating smell.

 

“Yeah, he was training me before Gerard's goon squad got him.” Stiles gave Peter a critical look. “Dad and Chris always hoped you would come back after they managed to clear your name. Why didn't you?” The last was not said as an accusation, but there was a glint to the boy’s eyes; it would do him no good to lie to him.

 

“I had every intention of returning until Gerard sent his pet Alpha pack after me. I was staying with a Kitsune family. We barely managed to get out alive, though the altercation did give up one benefit.” Peter flashed his eyes, knowing the red would cut through the gloom. 

 

Stiles nodded. “That would have been Deucalion's Alpha pack, right?” Stiles' eyes scanned the area constantly as he spoke, even as he slipped his rowan wood baseball bat back into his back holster. 

 

Peter smiled, liking the quick mind of this young Spark. “Clever boy. Yes, it was Duec’s pack.” 

 

“Don’t start with the ‘boy’ crap, grandad.  I’m twenty, even though I still look like a malnourished twink. Those are Derek's words, by the way.” Stiles smiled, taking some of the bite out of his words. 

 

“My apologies, Stiles. No offence meant.” Peter dipped his head, smirking slightly. 

 

“Its cool, dude. People tend to misjudge me., SO, which Alpha did you kill to get those eyes, cause I know Deucalion is still around.” Stiles scowled hard. 

 

“Kali. She had cornered a young Kitsune and a Kanima from our pack, and I dealt with her.” Peter sneered at the memory. It was a dirty fight, and Peter came within a heartbeat of losing. But he didn’t and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

 

“Yeah, Derek and Chris said you were a tough old wolf.” Stiles smiled, and led Peter back towards where Peter had parked the Camaro. 

 

“Old, really,” Peter snorted. 

 

“So, we should head to the outpost. We set up at the old place; I’ll show you the way.” Stiles stood by the passenger door, waiting to be let in. 

 

“How did you get here?” Peter had heard no other engines, only the sound of footsteps when Stiles had arrived. 

 

“I ran, cut through the preserve and then down Main Street.” Stiles spoke off-handedly. 

 

Peter whistled through his teeth. That was a fair distance, and when the boy -- no, young man -- arrived he was barely winded “That's impressive.”  Peter looked harder at Stiles. His long frame was lithe, not skinny like he’d thought. Peter could see that there was a strength there not just the magic but an actual, physical strength. 

 

Stiles caught Peter’s appraising glance and smirked “Dude I’ve been running with werewolves since I could walk, remember. A sprint from the house to here is easy.” Stiles got in and looked around the car. “Nice ride.” 

 

“Thank you, I am rather fond of the old girl.” Peter patted the dash. “So I take it we are heading to the old house?” 

 

“Yeah, but we have to go a roundabout way, need to avoid the high school. I'll show you the way.” Stiles sat forward in the passenger seat, scanning the murk. “Going to have to make this quick. We’ll have to deal with more Deadites if we don’t get back before dark.” 

 

“So why are we avoiding the high school, may I ask?” Peter started the engine, pulling slowly out of the sheriff's department parking lot.

 

“Gerard and the Necronomicon are there. It is the proverbial hellmouth, home of the big bad, the source of all evil, you get the picture,” Stiles answered. “Turn left here.” He  pointed down a dark, narrow side street. 

 

“You know, most of the country is affected now. The president had his throat ripped out by the first lady on live TV.” Stiles kept his eyes facing forward, scanning for danger as he spoke. Peter took the left carefully, not wanting to risk crashing or blowing out a tire on the debris that was laying about.

 

“LA is lost; it's a smouldering heap. Before the president bit the dust, he issued a command and the Air Force blew the shit out of most major cities along the coast. Not much better on the East Coast either, from what I hear,” Peter said. He had been staying with Kira's family on the Mexico border when it all went to hell. 

 

He had known deep down that Gerard was behind it, that he had finally gotten his hands on the Necronomicon.

 

Stiles directed them through the back streets of Beacon Hills. “Yeah, we should make it home soon. I'm sure Derek is already blowing a gasket worrying, doing the ‘rawr, I am a worried Alpha’ thing.” Stiles put his hands up in mock claws and made a growl, doing a pretty good imitation of Derek's worried face.

 

“So you and my nephew are still friends, then?” Peter asked as he steered the car around a blockage in the middle of the road. 

 

“Yeah, when everything turned to shit and we lost Dad and Laura, Der and I ‘bonded.’” Stiles used air quotes. “Derek kind of took a nosedive into the pool of self-doubt and depression for a while there, and I kind of joined him, but we were able to pull each other up. And with Chris being the bossy, overprotective son-of-a-gun he is, we got through it.” Stiles' eyes glowed softly in the early evening light. “Though not without some challenges.” 

 

“When Gerard used the book, he unleashed a whole mess of things into this world,” Stiles went on to explain. “One of those things was a Nogitsune.” 

 

“Oh mother moon,” Peter whispered. 

 

“Yeah, and lucky me it decided I looked like the perfect ride. Well, let’s just say my Spark decided to manifest about that time and said ‘fuck you’ to the Nogitsune. I was screwed up for a bit, but Chris and Derek helped get me through it.”  

 

Peter gave the boy -- no, man -- a quick side glance. He was more than just some boy, or just a Spark; he had fought off a Nogitsune. That was unheard-of.” 

 

“Okay, you’re  gonna want to follow this road to the chain-link fence a couple of miles up.” Stiles pointed at a road coming up. Peter had noticed that since their initial confrontation with the Deadites earlier, there had been no sign of any more. He voiced his confusion to Stiles.

 

“Gerard has problems summoning them during daylight hours. He sucks at it even at the best times , though, and his control over them is slipping.” Stiles’ face screwed up in distaste as he talked about it. 

 

“But he has the book?” 

 

“Yeah, but having the book does not make you the master of the world. You’ve got to be able to control the book. It's got a life of its own, and its own motives,” Stiles answered as he leaned forward in the passenger seat and peered  into the half-light. “Slow down, getting close to the turn-off.” 

 

Peter did as he was told. Funny how this boy could boss him around and he just followed like an eager pup. 

 

Peter pulled up to what looked like a dead end. He noticed the Spark close his eyes briefly in concentration, then open them again. “No one’s around. We can hide the car over there; the rest of the way is by foot, I’m afraid.” 

 

They hid the car under brush and branches, obscuring it form even the most eagle-eyed observer. Stiles quickly cast a rune that would further obscure the car. 

 

“Okay, sexy wolf, follow me.” Stiles headed through a hole in the chain-link fence.

 

“Sexy wolf?”  Peter smirked at the blush he could see coloring the young man's ears. 

 

“Oh come on, you know what you look like. And watching you fight those Deadites, what can I say? Alphas red and kicking ass are hot.” 

 

Peter snorted, keeping his eyes ahead. “You’re not too hard on the eyes yourself. I’ve always found the unrestrained use of magic a turn-on.” 

 

“Oh please.” Stiles snorted in response. They walked along barely-there trails as the evening deepened. Peter’s senses were on alert for any danger , but his eyes did keep flitting  back to the shapely ass in front of him. It was almost hypnotic in its appeal.

 

“You don’t need to worry too much about Deadites out here. The Nemeton gets pretty prickly about that stuff and tends to send them packing. She really is pissed about the book, though.” Stiles stopped walking, and Peter, concentrating on the denim-encased flesh in front of him, failed to notice the large tree root sticking out. Falling in a very unflattering way, Peter let out a grunt.

 

“Eyes up here, Wolfman.” 

 

Peter brushed himself down, giving the Spark a glare. “Well, you would wiggle that thing in front of me.” 

 

“I don't wiggle I sashay seductively, now have we finished with the merits of my ass it’s not much further, . I know Derek and Chris are eager to see you.” Stiles picked up the pace, and soon they were both running through the moonlit preserve. 

 

Breaking into a clearing, Peter’s breath caught in his chest. His home, the place he had burnt down to save what was left of his family, now stood rebuilt. Not the same as it had once been; it felt better, safer even, but under the newness, it was still home. A figure on the porch moved. Eyes flashed red from the darkness, followed by a questioning growl. 

 

“Easy, Sourwolf, it’s us.” Stiles’ voice came from behind Peter and he felt a hand on his back guiding him towards the house. 

 

Derek came down the stairs towards them. Peter noticed the changes in his nephew. The weight of all they had gone through had left its mark; there was a sorrow there, and a wisdom. Both Alphas stood staring at each other for a moment before a smile broke over Derek's face. It was like seeing sunshine. “Peter,” was all he said before Peter pulled him into a tight hug. 

 

Pulling back from the hug, Derek raised a brow, looking from Peter to Stiles. “Something tells me you ran into trouble.” 

 

Stiles looked sheepish and absently rubbed the back of his foot with his baseball bat. “Well, only a little bit. Like ten or so Deadites that our Evil Overlord sent to deal with Peter.” 

 

Derek stepped back a low growl in his throat. “Knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” Derek's growl was cut off when Chris Argent appeared and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Derek, calm down, you’re making the pups upset.” Chris tilted his head back to the house, where a group of young adults stood. Chris came down the stairs towards Peter. “Hale, it's been a long time. Glad to see you’re safe.” 

 

Peter watched as his nephew seemed to relax under the hunter’s hand. Even more surprising to Peter, under the collar of the hunter’s shirt he spotted what was unmistakably a mating bite. Well now, there was a development.

 

“Come inside. The rest of the pack will want to meet you.” Derek led them up to the house, Stiles staying alongside Peter, offering up a running commentary on their dealings with Gerard and all that had happened.

 

Peter stopped at the front door, looking back at the darkened preserve and then to the house. He was back, he was home, and somehow he was going to help set things right. He had no idea how, but he was sure between his nephew’s pack and Stiles, he had found likely allies.

 

Stiles -- now there was an interesting young man. He wouldn’t lie and say the young man didn’t  make his pulse spike or his blood run hot, but first things first: save the world, then woo the Spark.

 


End file.
